


The Barbeque

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: Stark Ranch [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BUT FIRST WE SLOW BURN, Cowboy Porn That Developed Feelings Godamnit, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Discipline, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, HORSES!, Lots of Sex Very Soon, M/M, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Spanking, alternate universe - cowboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26473321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: You encourage me, and this is what you get.Story three of the Avengers As Cowboys Spanking and (eventually) Sex fic.I hope you're proud.  Are we having fun?!~~~Peter is currying Karen, whispering nonsense lovingly against her side as he brushes, when Bucky stalks in and says, “Hey, you seen Harley?  Came by for our afternoon ride and Steve said he’d gone with you down to the home farm.  No one down there’s seen him in hours, though.”“Uh, no?” Peter offers.  “Haven’t- haven’t seen him since he dropped me off outside the stables.”  Well, far outside the stables, but, outside the stables.  It’s not a lie.“This always happens, Stark comes home and Harley puts out the welcome wagon with the fireworks, just to make sure he gets all the attention,” sighs Bucky.  “Like Tony don’t got enough to worry about, enough that needs his attention.”Peter wants to say Harley’d gone with Johnny, but- well.  He’s already talked himself into a corner, here.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Stark Ranch [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893331
Comments: 57
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, let's hear it for the people who gave me the prompt, who WILL BE GIFTED FUTURE FICS WHEN THERE IS FLAME:  
> khory, who has the spiciest gifs  
> Annalyn, who encourages the best  
> personaljunkdrawer, who is as filthy as he is talented, which is a staggering amount, really
> 
> For iamwithtony, or Peter Is A Twink Fight Me on Tumblr, for the moodboard which was just *chef kiss* perfect, and came at just the right time to knock me right off my smut and into an ocean of feelings.
> 
> For my cheerreaders, Livvibee and personaljunkdrawer, for telling me it's not shit, I should not delete it
> 
> Beta'd by the Supreme Team of jf4m and mindwiped.
> 
> All remaining errors are mine.

Peter is currying Karen, whispering nonsense lovingly against her side as he brushes, when Bucky stalks in and says, “Hey, you seen Harley? Came by for our afternoon ride and Steve said he’d gone with you down to the home farm. No one down there’s seen him in hours, though.”

“Uh, no?” Peter offers. “Haven’t- haven’t seen him since he dropped me off outside the stables.” Well, far outside the stables, but, outside the stables. It’s not a _lie_.

“This always happens, Stark comes home and Harley puts out the welcome wagon with the fireworks, just to make sure he gets all the attention,” sighs Bucky. “Like Tony don’t got enough to worry about, enough that needs his attention.”

Peter wants to say Harley’d gone with Johnny, but- well. He’s already talked himself into a corner, here. He says, instead, “I kinda met Mr. Stark in the stables,” and then ducks his head because _why. Why?_ If he wanted to cover for Harley, why the _hell_ would he pick this option?

Bucky whistles and comes forward, eyes narrowing at Peter. “Yeah? What’s that mean?” he growls.

“Um, he was, uh, messing with- well, tacking up, I know that now,” corrects Peter, “Sabretooth? So I said, _Oh, that’s Logan’s horse, you must be new here_ , like an ass.”

Bucky stares at him and then rolls his eyes and shrugs, snorting, “What, one kid poking him with sticks ain’t enough, I gotta have two on my roster that just, just go straight for the sore spots-” he shakes his head for a long moment before grunting, “What did he say?”

Peter shrugs uncomfortably and says, “That I had just proven I was really new and I should be ashamed of it.” His cheeks heat up, even if he’s pretty sure now that there’s literally nothing ever to be ashamed of in being new and Stark was just being an asshole.

“Oh, damn,” sighs Bucky, and then, unexpectedly, he comes forward and wraps Peter in a hug. “Well, his bark’s pretty bad, but-”

“Thor said he’s like Sabertooth, sometimes he bites,” Peter informs him, with his face tucked into Bucky’s shoulder.

“Well, yeah, he can be a bit bitchy,” chuckles Bucky, releasing him just to ruffle Peter’s hair and then tuck it off Peter’s forehead. _It is getting long_ , thinks Peter. “Tell you what, he’ll show up here tonight sniffing for some good food- the whole damn ranch can smell the barbeque I’ve been smoking since yesterday, the pack of mangy mutts- and we’ll make him grovel for being mean to you, okay?”

Peter’s heart lifts a little. “We can do that?” he asks. “I- I didn’t mean, I just meant, I didn’t know him and I didn’t know if he knew-”

“Yeah, we can definitely do that,” Bucky tells him with a wicked grin, his eyes dark and vengeful. “Nobody grovels like Tony Stark, anyway. Not when my barbeque’s on the table inside and Steve’s standing in the doorway. You wait, you’ll love it. I’ll go tell Steve the plan and then I gotta find Harley, figure out what he’s up to, how he plans to ruin everyone’s day today.”

He gets to the shed door and then stops, looks back at Peter and says, “No one gets to talk to you like that, Peter Parker, not around here, not even Tony Stark, you hear me?”

“Y-yeah, Bucky,” says Peter, his mouth suddenly dry. 

There’s no way the man knows how painfully _hot_ he is, but he quirks a grin like he does, and then he’s gone.

Peter blows out a breath and tries to decide what words he’d use to write this up in the journal, and then works on transcribing it in his head to the code, trying to cool off with the mental workout while finishing up Karen’s care routine. He sets her free out into the paddock, because it’s early yet, and takes care of his tack, and then heads for the house.

Sam’s in Steve’s studio, to his surprise. Peter slips his journal from the bookshelf and flops into the beanbag chair. Sam greets him with a laugh, “Heard the boss was an asshole to you, down in the stable. Came to check and see if you needed an icepack for the bite.”

“Nah, we got it, right, Peter?” asks Steve with a smile.

“Bucky says you’re going to make him grovel,” Peter tells him.

Sam hoots, but Steve says, “Well, yeah, it’s barbeque night. We got him over the barrel, Peter.”

“Hello?” calls a voice from the stairs. “Hey, anybody here?”

“In here, Clint,” call Steve and Sam.

“Hey, so, hear me out before you kick me out,” says Clint, from the doorway, one hand on either side of the frame, leaning in, looking clean cut in a white t-shirt and black jeans. “I’m starving.”

“You can stay, but you gotta help us with Tony,” laughs Sam.

“Tony? Hell, yeah,” says Clint, stepping in eagerly. “I was half-worried you were gonna say _Harley_.”

“What’s wrong with Harley?” asks Steve, brow furrowed.

“Bucky can’t find him,” says Peter from his beanbag chair.

Clint and Sam exchange looks back and forth and then Sam says, delicately, “And you know, how he likes to, uh, act up a little, when Tony’s been gone-”

Steve’s lips press together. “Maybe not this time,” he says firmly.

Clint shrugs and says, “Well, I mean, Bucky can’t find him, Steve.”

“You ought to just tie him to a chair, when you hear he’s coming back,” sighs Sam. “It’s always something, remember when he climbed the stable roof?” Peter feels his eyes boggle a little, because that roof is like three or four stories _high_ , and _metal_ , gold-colored _metal_.

“That was Bobby Drake’s idea and you know it,” says Steve, frowning.

“Yeah, sure, to _climb_ up there, but to-” laughs Clint.

“They were both fine,” Steve interrupts firmly. Then he winces and Peter’s fascinated, because he mutters, “Eventually.”

“Fireworks, every time,” laughs Sam, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “You know it, just admit it, you should just tie him to a chair.”

“Tony took off on Sabertooth this afternoon,” Clint reports to the room at large.

“Oh, thank God,” sighs Sam. “That horse needs to be worked and worked _hard._ ”

“Bareback,” adds Clint with obvious relish and a bright grin.

“Smart,” says Sam. “He’ll just scrape a saddle off, ruin all of Logan’s work, I swear to God he does it on purpose. How he breaks the saddletree, every _fucking_ time, I don’t-”

“Language,” mutter Steve and Peter together.

Steve smiles down at Peter and says, “Well, so, Clint, you up for helping us out with Tony?”

“What’d he do?” asks Clint resignedly.

“He was mean to our precious Peter,” chuckles Sam. 

“This baby face?” teases Clint, grabbing Peter’s chin. “This one? Right here? How could anyone be mean to this baby face right here?”

Peter shoves Clint off of him, cheeks burning. He gives Steve a pleading glance and Steve laughs, holding out a hand to lift him up. “Okay, let’s go get the tables and chairs out, do a chilly picnic on the front lawn, a campfire, too.”

“Nice,” says Clint, high fiving Sam. “I _do_ love Tower life.”

They’ve got it all set up, tablecloths and everything, the fire in the pit roaring to life under Clint’s careful gaze, when the sound of hooves makes Peter’s head pop up and Steve turn around.

“Oh, damn,” sighs Sam. “Well, there goes the fun welcome home dinner idea.”

“Nah, Bucky’ll take care of it fast,” disagrees Clint. “He never lets it get too drawn out.”

Harley’s head is hung so low and hang-dog that it’s practically on his chest, Peter notices with alarm, and his seat on Tantrum is kind of _stiff_. Bucky has Tantrum’s reins wrapped around Patches’ saddle horn and a black look on his face. Tony rides behind them on a beautiful, springy dun horse, looking just as grim.

Steve walks to the road, his shoulders rolling and stretching, and says something quietly to Bucky, who says something back- they’re too far away for Peter to catch what they’re saying, but Harley flinches and looks at the front yard and then winces and glares out over the hills. Steve takes Tantrum’s reins from Bucky with a firm hand and motions for Harley to dismount, which he does, awkwardly. It’s the first awkward thing Peter’s ever seen Harley do on a horse and that’s even more shocking than Bucky and Tony and now Steve’s grim expressions, visible even from the firepit.

“Okay, let’s, uh, clear out back to the house, go find the potato salad or something,” says Sam.

“Fire’s gotta be watched,” protests Clint.

“Well, fine, you can watch it, but Peter doesn’t need to-”

“He’s gonna figure it out eventually, Sam,” sighs Clint. He squints at Peter. “Probably have to have a taste of it, himself, if I had to guess.”

Peter doesn’t ask _taste of what_. He feels nervous and twitchy, suddenly, Sam’s mood affecting him, maybe, or his worry about Harley. 

Bucky dismounts, too, and hands his reins over to Steve. He pats Steve on the shoulder and mutters something to Harley that makes Harley drag his feet and walk over to Steve and say something that looks bitter and angry.

Steve shakes his head and nods at the house, saying something clipped.

Peter’s eyes move to Bucky’s face, quickly, and so he catches the moment Bucky clicks his tongue and Harley winces, nodding and muttering something, shifting closer to Bucky.

Tony leans in his saddle and says something- short and sharp, if Peter had to guess. Peter winces because he’s had some of Tony’s bite, now, and he can imagine it.

“Hooo, welcome home, Boss,” chuckles Clint, shaking his head and turning away from the scene. “Wonder what he did.” 

“We’ll find out soon enough,” sighs Sam, as Bucky moves to the house, trailing Harley a step behind. Steve and Tony turn to walk the horses to the shed and paddocks out back.

“Still, we’ll know he’s in _real_ deep if he’s back out here with a knife,” laughs Clint.

“Ain’t funny, if Tony’s pissed you know it means Harley almost broke his neck- or- or someone’s neck,” Sam says, clearly trying to quash Clint’s merriment with a serious look.

Clint grins at him, and then turns it on Peter, straightening slightly. “Aw, hey, no, Peter, everyone’s okay,” he says quickly. Peter wonders what his face must look like, must be showing, for the man to be so alarmed by his expression. His skin feels tight, his nerves jumping as Clint continues soothingly, “It’s just Harley, just Bucky and Harley. Quick storm, blows over just as fast. We wouldn’t be joking if anyone was gonna get _hurt_ , kid.”

Peter squirms, upset that Clint can read him so well. “I- I mean- what do you mean, if he’s back out here with a knife?” he asks.

“Cutting a switch,” Clint explains, like it’s obvious. Like that’s _normal_.

“Eh, it’s just their way,” says Sam, sliding an arm around Peter and pulling him in. “Don’t mind it. I know it ain’t the New York City way, it wasn’t the Washington D.C. way, either, when I first came out here, but it doesn’t hurt any of ‘em, I promise.”

“A switch- like a- a beating?” asks Peter, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“Nah, never as rough as that,” Sam assures him. “About a day of cooling his heels and shifting in his seat and Harley’s fine. You’ll see.”

“They beat him,” clarifies Peter. “For- for- for not being safe.” They know how crazy that sounds, right? Something in the idea, though, sticks in his head. Bucky clucking his tongue and Harley wincing, falling into line behind him, Bucky leading the way into the house to do- what? And where? And why does the thought of it make his skin feel so- so- tight?

“Well, what, you think he deserves a sensual massage?” chuckles Clint, shaking his head and snorting. “Relax. We live a little rougher out here. It is nowhere _near_ the first time, didn’t Harley catch hell over some test paperwork that got sent back just last week? You were here for that, weren’t you?” he asks Peter.

“I- I- maybe,” stammers Peter.

“Yeah, you were, I was here, too. And Harley was just fine. Does he act like he’s scared?” Sam says slowly. “Act like he doesn’t trust them?”

“No,” says Peter. No. That’s very true. The trust between the three of them is a palpable thing, always present and part of what makes this place so fucking breezy, now that he thinks about it. Harley just seems so _assured_ , so- so _sure_ of Bucky and Steve and how much they love him. Like he’s never questioned where he belongs, who he belongs to.

Peter swallows, imagining that.

“Right, because that’d be crazy,” Clint says, rolling his eyes. “It’s just their way, Peter. They got it all figured out, between ‘em. I was done being spanked when I was younger than Harley was when he first came out here, wouldn’t let the old man touch me. But he pushes and pushes, almost like he wants a sore ass, most weeks. And Bucky don’t mind giving it to him, Peter.”

Sam sighs and says, “Truer words. It really will be okay, Peter. Think of it, like, they’re old-fashioned, that’s all. Like, they’re from a different era, huh?” 

Clint makes an aborted noise and glares at Sam, but Sam continues slowly, “When cowboys ruled the west and that kind of thing was just, well, what you did. It’s like that, for them. Just- just something they do. I got a degree in knowing when something is breaking somebody down and is abusive, Peter. It may not be something _you_ or _I_ want, but, well. We’re not Harley and them. You gotta let people sort out their own stuff their own way,” he finishes.

Peter nods, because, well, he’s _heard_ of stuff like that, he was in middle school when 50 Shades of Gray made a big fucking splash everywhere. People can be into all kinds of things, and you just gotta- let ‘em do it. As long as everyone, well. As long as no one’s being traumatized.

And Sam would know.

It’s not like Peter hasn’t watched porn with it, with- he flushes, and tries not to make any kind of eye contact with any of the men around him. With someone built like, um, Bucky, and another guy, like, uh, Harley, and- Ned had even joked about it, that time they’d tried to figure out what kind of sexuality Peter had, joked that Peter would enjoy _anything_ as long as someone got smacked. They’d dipped into a few of the BDSM videos, though, and that had- that had been weird. Too much. Not- not sexy, not in the way that the video, with the guy, when he just, just slapped the younger one on his ass. Although it hadn’t been _sexy_ , really, Peter concedes, still panicking. It- he’d- it had just caught his attention. The smack. The way the younger one had hissed, _Sorry, Mike, I won’t do it again_.

Peter swallows.

 _But he pushes and pushes, almost like he wants a sore ass, most weeks. And Bucky don’t mind giving it to him, Peter,_ echoes Clint’s voice in Peter’s ears, making him feel hot and itchy, like there’s a flame inside him that makes him want to say something just as hot, and angry. Just to- just to see what would happen.

“Hey, if they’re inside, now, and we’re _respecting their space_ all of a sudden, we can’t get the salad,” says Clint. “Or the plates. God, I’m so hungry. I’ve been smelling that barbeque all day.”

“Well, he won’t be doing it on the ground floor,” snorts Sam. “C’mon, let’s go set the table, wait for this to blow over a little.”

“Wonder what he did,” muses Clint again, as they walk to the front door.

“Find out soon enough,” repeats Sam quellingly, rolling his eyes at Peter. 

Peter’s too busy thinking of what might be happening in some room of the house to really pay attention to how they set the table.

~~~

Steve walks around the corner of the house after a very short period of time. Just enough time to quick-curry two horses and fast-wipe some tack, thinks Peter, wincing. He should have gone to help or something-

Something about the set of Steve’s shoulders makes Peter think back to Sam saying, _It may not be something you or I want, but, well. We’re not Harley and them._ Them. Bucky and Steve. So Steve must- uh- sometimes, too. With Harley. God, how does that even work? Does it hurt? How much? Peter can’t imagine it. 

Or, well.

He can. He can imagine it, really well, really easily, and it makes his cheeks burn. He looks away from Steve’s approach and down at the fire. 

_But he pushes and pushes, almost like he wants a sore ass, most weeks. And Bucky don’t mind giving it to him, Peter._

“Hey, kiddo, still gonna make Tony grovel,” says Steve, ruffling Peter’s hair and then leaning down to hug Peter around the neck, like he does sometimes, now. “Bucky’s adamant we get started right away and not wait on him and Harley.”

Peter stiffens in Steve’s arms, feeling that same something well up inside him, hot and vicious. He pushes it down and says, “I told you, it’s okay,” brusquely. “I’m a big boy, I can- I don’t need-”

Clint laughs, “Oh, picking on Tony’s free of charge. We all love it, don’t ruin the fun, Peter.”

Peter bites his tongue and settles back down, rubbing his back a little against Steve’s chest, feeling the- the thing in his chest, the hotness, simmer back down.

Steve and Clint and Sam begin talking about the day, then, what they saw and what they did, who they talked to, and how badly they’re gonna get Tony to grovel for being mean to the new kid. “When our Peter was just trying to protect him,” points out Sam virtuously, making Clint nod firmly.

Tony comes out of the front door, lopes down the steps to the scrub-grass ground and says, “Okay, they’re almost done, he’s admitting he probably should have used some part of his brain at some point today for something other than pissing me off, so, hi. Is that barbeque? For me?”

“Nope,” chorus Sam, Steve and Clint, firmly.

“Wait, what?” asks Tony, baffled.

“This is _Peter’s_ barbeque,” says Steve firmly. 

“It’s my cow. Or pig. Or chickens,” Tony points out, waving an arm around. Peter’s cheeks burn hotly, because the man’s _right_. “I can smell those spices, that’s Bucky’s blend, so he didn’t make the meat, either. And that- right there- is your potato salad, Steven Grant Rogers, so don’t you go-”

 _Wow_ , thinks Peter wildly. Steve’s parents were _big_ fans, then. _Jeez, poor guy._

“-telling me that it’s this kid’s food at all, really,” finishes Tony. “Hi, New Guy,” he says, belatedly. 

And then, immediately, his face falling comically, “Oh, _fuck_.”

“Language,” all four other men tell him. Peter feels briefly elated by the unison response and almost grins. He can see Clint and Sam grinning madly, and it lifts his heart.

“No, c’mon, now, don’t do this, I just got home,” Tony says, suddenly playful and pleading, like he just caught on to the name of the game.

“Yeah, and five seconds after you changed out of your suit, you’re throwing your weight around and acting like an asshole, which, typical,” snorts Clint.

“He was _trying_ to _prevent injuries_ ,” says Sam severely.

“Aww, c’mon, I didn’t- I wasn’t that bad,” temporizes Tony.

Steve snorts and quotes, “You should be _ashamed_.”

There’s silence and then Tony sighs, a long, deep, heartfelt sigh. Steve pulls Peter back, wraps his arms around Peter’s chest, and says firmly, “You should be _ashamed_.”

“Aww, don’t,” pleads Tony. “Not, not with the eyes, I swear. Not with the judgy eyes, please. I just got home, and here’s this guy saying _I’m_ the new kid, because no one knows me anymore, because I’ve been gone so long-”

“You should be ashamed,” says Clint firmly.

“Yeah,” agrees Sam, his eyes twinkling across the fire at Peter. “ _Ashamed._ ”

Tony sighs again and then says, “Okay, yes, I should. You’re absolutely right. Peter, kid, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, New Guy. I had a lot going on and-”

It’s not funny. It’s suddenly not funny, even if Peter can see that everyone else finds it funny, even Tony, even Tony thinks it’s a game. He pulls away from Steve. “It’s fine,” he says, aiming for brisky and firm, but sounding a little strained. “You bit me, because I was wrong, and then- it’s fine.”

Tony winces, though, and says, “No, it’s not fine, Peter. That’s- that’s not who I want to be. That’s not who I am, the guy who yells at the new guy on payroll just because he’s had a rough month. I won’t- I’ll make it up to you. You want a pony?”

“Thor gave him Karen,” Sam interjects.

Tony whistles, leaning back. “Well, I can’t beat that.”

No. He can’t. Karen is the _best_. Peter clenches his jaw and kicks his feet a little.

“A campout,” Steve declares. “This weekend. That’s what Peter wants. You and Harley and Peter, take them and the horses up on the high hills trails.”

“I can do that, I can _do_ that,” says Tony. “You want that, Peter? You can have it.”

Peter scowls. “I don’t want to camp out with an _asshole_.”

“Language,” says Steve, and bats him across the head, just like he does with Harley.

“Sorry,” mutters Peter, feeling something flutter deep in his stomach. _Just like Steve does with Harley._ “I don’t want to camp out with a _jerk_ , then.” He lifts his chin, after saying it, and looks Tony right in the eye, heart trembling in his chest.

“Kid’s got balls,” Clint says appreciatively.

“So I won’t be a jerk,” offers Tony, smiling and spreading his arms, the fluid confidence of a salesman assured of his product radiating out of his face. His shirt gaps open at the throat and reveals a black braided-cord necklace. “Easy.”

The three other men snort.

“I can keep it together for a whole weekend,” protests Tony, smiling broadly.

“Deal,” says Steve, kissing the top of Peter’s head. “Pack marshmallows, though, or Harley’s gonna revolt.”

“I’ll revolt,” retorts Peter.

“You?” snorts Clint. “Yeah, no, my money’s on Harley, every time.”

“You barely know me,” Peter reminds him. “I’m _troubled_.”

Steve shifts behind him and Peter half-expects the little shake he gives Peter. “Enough,” he says firmly. “Food’s spoiling.”

“Something’s being spoiled,” laughs Sam, shaking his head. “Ain’t the food though.”

“And you can shut it, too,” Steve says. “Go wash up.”

Sam, Clint, and Tony amble to the house while Steve holds Peter for a second longer. Peter looks up at Steve’s downturned face. “You’re troubled?” asks Steve mildly, raising an eyebrow.

Peter grins. 

“I’ll give you _trouble_ ,” Steve tells him, his eyes laughing.

“Ste-eve,” whines Peter, in what he knows, because Uncle Ben had declared it, is the most annoying tone in the entire galaxy. “It was Clint. I had to defend myself.”

“It was Clint, you could have ignored him,” laughs Steve, pushing Peter upright. “C’mon, tough guy, go wash up.”

Peter laughs and says, “Not sure tough guys actually do wash up, Steve.”

“You will,” Steve warns him.

“Okay, Steve,” snorts Peter.

~~~

The hot feeling in Peter’s stomach returns when he’s sitting on the picnic table bench, bumping elbows with Clint beside him, Steve at the end to his left. He’s biting into a piece of corn on the cob when the front door opens and Bucky saunters out, wiping his hands on a towel before passing it back to Harley, whose eyes are shockingly red rimmed and who takes it, wiping off his own hands and detouring to put it on one of the chairs around the firepit.

Bucky heads for the chair at the other end of the picnic table, grabbing two paper plates from the stack and setting one on the end of the table nearest him, in the empty spot next to Tony. “Siddown,” he demands, when Harley shuffles his feet by the bench.

“Yeah, Half-pint,” teases Clint. “Sit down.”

“Shut up, Clint,” glowers Harley.

“Oooh, make me,” says Clint, wiggling his sauce-covered fingers at Harley around the rib bone he’s gnawing on.

“You’re the worst,” Harley informs him, sitting gingerly. Peter swallows the corn in his mouth and feels a little sick.

“Careful,” warns Tony shortly, licking his fingers. “Bucky’s had his say, but I still got a lot of mad for that stunt.”

“Eat,” grunts Bucky, putting a spoonful of salad on Harley’s plate and following it up with ribs and brisket. He snatches a corn on the cob, still in the husk, and lays it beside Harley’s plate. Harley mumbles his thanks, and Bucky nods, filling his own plate next. 

“So,” drawls Clint. “Someone gonna fill the rest of us in?”

“Depends, you gonna be a jerk the whole time?” asks Bucky casually, lifting a challenging eyebrow at Clint.

“I might,” laughs Clint. “How good is it? As good as the stable roof?”

Peter feels his lip lift in disgust at Clint’s merriment, and is mildly grateful when Clint yelps and says, “Ow!”

“Stop being you,” grunts Sam, pointing with a rib. “If that’s even possible.”

Clint makes an injured noise and takes a big scoop of his potato salad.

“You want to tell it, or should we?” asks Bucky in a low grumble, ripping meat off the bone with a flash of teeth.

Peter watches Harley take a big swallow and gasp, “I got it.” He grabs for the pitcher, but Tony gets there first, pouring him a glass and handing it over. Harley nods his thanks and drains half of the cup and then says, quietly, “So, what had happened was, I was taking Peter down the road and Johnny came up and said, you know, Tony’s in town.”

“Johnny,” says Clint. “Ain’t you supposed to-”

“Look, Tony was back, I got excited, it slipped my mind,” says Harley, shooting him a black glare that doesn’t seem to phase Clint at all.

“Funny how that happens sometimes,” says Sam slowly. “Things like being grounded for making trouble, being told you need supervision with someone.”

“I got excited,” mumbles Harley, taking a small bite of his brisket.

Tony knocks into Harley’s shoulder with his elbow and Harley huffs, “And he had this dumb idea, right? That we could, uh, turnonthelandinglights.”

“This is _after_ ,” says Tony, speaking precisely around a mouthful of meat, “I had to de-program Jarvis from that completely _stupid_ accent.”

Wait. What? Peter perks up and looks at Tony more closely, and then at Steve, confused.

“Oh, yeah, uh, Jarvis is a, um, robot,” Steve tells him lamely. “Kind of. He’s-”

“He’s AI, kid, the best AI in the world. Probably in the galaxy,” asserts Tony. “Had to figure out a lot of stuff to make the Buckster’s new arm, figured why stop there, and gave him a body to move around, too. You can catch where his eyes are really weird, still, though, and don’t _touch_ him, or you’ll feel it, but yeah, neural network, all that, within range, he can-”

“Which one of them-?” asks Steve calmly.

“I’m sorry, do you see anyone else, literally _anyone else_ smart enough to program an _accent_ into Jarvis _anywhere_ on my payroll?” demands Tony. “ _Any_ of them?”

“Forge, probably,” says Sam quickly.

“Sure, Forge,” agrees Tony, nodding. “You see him using that brilliant brain on some stupid, annoying stunt, designed to do nothing but irritate the people around him?”

Harley shifts on the bench as Tony says, “Yeah, thought not. So, yeah, that was _Harley_ , and it took me a half-hour, and I was maybe a little bit pissed.”

“Honest to God, we thought you did that, Tony,” says Bucky gruffly. “As like, a joke.”

Tony shakes his head. “He’s an AI, he should get to choose his own _voice_ , at least.”

Harley winces, and takes another bite of potato salad, still not raising his eyes from the table in front of him.

“What… what did you make the landing lights spell?” asks Steve, in a faint voice like he’s not sure he actually wants to know.

“Oh, but Steve, they didn’t get that far, did they?” asks Tony, wiping his mouth and pouring himself another glass of lemonade. “Because I’m not an _idiot_.”

“We got up to the shed and it was locked,” mutters Harley.

“Locked doors meaning, what, around here?” asks Tony flippantly.

“Stay out,” answers Steve firmly.

“Yeah, you know, everybody I’ve talked to, that’s the general consensus,” agrees Tony in a biting tone.

“Johnny said, he knew a trick, to just wait right there,” mumbles Harley.

“And he came back with-?” prompts Tony.

“A gun,” sighs Harley, grabbing for his lemonade again as Clint straightens and makes a very, very displeased growling noise.

“A what?” asks Clint.

“.475,” mumbles Harley, flinching. 

“The _elephant_ gun?” spits Clint, his face even darker than Bucky’s had been, handing the reins over to Steve, earlier. When Harley just flinches, he scoffs, “Look, I get that you’re still mad, Tony, but you’re gonna have to get in line, because _I’m_ next after Bucky.”

“And what’s that shed built with, Harley? What’d we learn, today,” asks Tony philosophically.

“Vibranium lock,” mutters Harley.

“Mother of God,” whispers Sam. “Johnny okay?”

“It, uh, didn’t hit us,” Harley says. “Or the- or the horses. Scared the shit out of Tantrum and Flame, though. Had to, uh, get ‘em back.”

“Who’s got the dislocated shoulder,” growls Clint.

“Not me! I didn’t- I told him we probably _shouldn’t_ ,” protests Harley, looking up, and then away, over Bucky’s shoulder, at the woodshed, his cheeks faintly pink.

“And it _was_ dislocated, wasn’t it, Harley?” asks Tony.

“Yes, sir,” says Harley, swallowing sickly. “I- I think I’m done, Bucky, please.” he says pitifully.

Bucky clucks his tongue and Harley swallows thickly, picking his fork up again.

“And who found your horse, riderless, panicked, in a foam-flecked gallop over uneven ground?” asks Tony.

“You did,” mutters Harley, taking another bite of potato salad. “And you got Tantrum by the reins and heard me shouting, and then-”

“I rode up, with Flame, and we found Johnny sitting propped up by the shed, white as a sheet and trying not to cry,” recites Bucky, shaking his head. “Buncha bullshit.”

Nobody says _language_ , Peter notes absently.

“Eat,” says Bucky.

Harley takes another bite of brisket.

“I can’t actually decide if this is worse than the shed,” says Clint slowly. “If we’re going on pure emotion, I’m definitely going to kill both of you, but I think I want it to hurt Johnny the whole time, whereas I’m willing to let you off light.”

Harley nods his head and says, “I am- I’ve never- I was _scared_ , Clint.”

“Y’always are, Half-pint, _afterwards_ ,” says Steve into the silence, his voice unyielding. There’s murmurs of agreement from the other men.

Peter finishes the last rib on his plate and sets it down carefully. “Will- will Johnny be okay?” he asks.

Harley looks down the table, gratefully, and shifts his weight on the bench, like he wants to get closer to Peter. “Him?” he says scornfully. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. Have to baby the shoulder but, well, people get hurt all the time.”

“Well, if he survives me, he’ll be fine,” says Clint, reaching for the paper towels in the center of the table, wiping his hands and then his face. “But you both better stay out of the range for a week, and then plan to spend every day in there for a straight week, re-learning all the rules.”

“Oh, yeah, Harley’s definitely not going anywhere without some supervision, for the next bit,” says Sam firmly.

Harley flinches. “Aw, I just earned privileges back,” he says quietly, but even Peter can see his heart’s not in the protest and he doesn’t expect anything but the snorts he gets.

“Well,” sighs Steve. “Of all the outcomes, this one? Probably the best we could hope for. Where’d he get the .475?”

Harley winces and says, “I, I dunno. You’ll have to, uh, ask him.”

“I know the 4s don’t have one. X Mansion, Main House, or the range,” says Clint, pointing at Tony. “You lock yours? I lock mine.”

“Double locked, plus he’d have to get past J,” Tony confirms. Clint and Tony narrow their eyes at each other for a moment.

“Bobby Drake,” they both say in unison.

Harley flinches and mutters, “Honest, Bucky, I can’t, I-”

Bucky spears a slice of brisket off of Harley’s plate casually with his fork and clucks his tongue before ripping off a chunk with his teeth.

Harley swallows and picks up the corn on the cob, starting to eat without any evidence of enjoying it. Peter shifts closer to Steve, who puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“I’ll go head down to the X Mansion,” sighs Sam. “Have a chat with the Professor.”

“You do that,” growls Bucky.

“I’ll come with,” offers Clint, standing and stretching. “Just in case you need someone who’s _angry_ for him to pick up on the fact that he needs to actually _do_ something about Bobby.”

Bucky snorts and Steve shakes his head as the two men leave. 

“We’ll be back,” Sam calls casually, waving an arm at them as Clint walks off. Peter watches everyone watch them leave, until they’re well down the dirt road.

Tony taps Harley on the shoulder and says, “Go on, it’s just us now.”

“I’m sorry,” says Harley, his voice choked and his eyes red-rimmed. He puts his elbows on the table and buries his head in his hands. “I’m just- I never been so scared, and I’m sorry, I am, I won’t-” he lets out another sob and Peter’s shocked. Steve stands up and moves to sit across the table from Harley, as Tony shoves serving dishes toward one end. “Tantrum almost- he coulda- we didn’t _know-_ ” sobs Harley.

“That’s what we keep telling you, Harley,” says Steve quietly, into the silence as Harley makes little choking noises. “You don’t know everything around here, and some of it’s _dangerous_ , Harley. You’re getting bigger and bigger every year, Half-pint, and the dangers get bigger and bigger _with_ you, so you need to-”

“Stop being a dumbass,” interrupts Tony.

“Language,” sobs Harley, shooting him a quick glare.

“You can _language_ me when I’m not about ready to throw you back over a knee and hope it sticks this time,” Tony tells him hotly. “Jumping off of three story buildings, fucking around with elephant guns, what the _hell_ , Harley? You broke your arm last time and Johnny’s got a dislocated shoulder this time, what kind of a ‘Welcome home, Tony,’ is that?”

“Bobby was gonna _catch_ me,” grits Harley through clenched teeth. “It was _you_ that got in his way.”

“‘Scuse me?” asks Bucky. Just those two words, and Harley takes a deep, shuddering breath and says, “Sorry, no, no, that was stupid, that _was_ really stupid, I won’t- I know-”

“Breathe, Half-pint,” says Steve wryly. He reaches out an arm and tucks Peter into his side. “You’re freaking out Peter.”

“ _I’m_ freaking out,” Harley retorts, still scrubbing his face with his hands. “We coulda- I- Johnny-”

“Yeah, join the totally-freaking-out club,” says Tony. “I’ll get you your Jr. Freaked Out beanie hat tomorrow. This has to _stop_ , Harley.”

“Sam suggested I tie you to a chair next time,” says Steve. “Think he might have a point.”

“Wh-what?” asks Harley, lifting his head to look at Steve in confusion. “H-how?”

“Next time Tony comes home, after a long haul doing important work, by the way,” says Bucky, like the decision has already been made, “you’re grounded. You’ll know he’s coming home, because you’ll be grounded, and so help me God, if you try to sneak around when you’re supposed to be in the house, grounded, you will not sit comfortably for a month, is that clear?”

Harley tilts his head to look at Bucky, and then eyes Steve and Tony, too, before he nods and says, “Y-yeah, Bucky. Crystal clear.”

“Wh-what were you going to spell with the landing lights?” asks Peter curiously, into the silence.

“ _Welcome home, Tony,_ ” croaks Harley.

Tony snorts. “Eat your corn.”

Harley picks up the cob with a little more interest, this time, gnawing on it in between glances at Bucky and Tony and Steve. “I am sorry,” he mutters, looking at the cob.

“We know,” says Steve, sounding weary. “It’d be nice if you didn’t have to be, Half-pint.”

“Clint’s gonna do whatever he thinks necessary,” Bucky says. “And most of that will fall on Bobby and Johnny, but you coulda stopped it, so I ain’t stopping him, you hear me? And you’re going to say _'Yes, sir_ ,' and, _'How high can I jump, sir_ ,' until he’s done drilling into your head that you and your friends don’t _play_ with the guns.”

“Yes, sir,” says Harley glumly, picking up his fork and shoving some potato salad into his mouth.

Steve’s hand is rubbing little circles into Peter’s back, he realizes, with a start, at the same time he realizes he’s leaning in, quite a bit.

“Doc’s gonna wanna rip on you some, too, you let ‘em,” says Tony. Bucky nods agreement.

Harley nods and takes the last big bite of potato salad. “Okay, can I be done? Because, really, Bucky, I can’t- I _am_ full, this time, I promise. I did eat. I _did_.”

“Yeah, okay, Half-pint,” sighs Bucky, leaning back. “Let’s go sit around the fire a bit.”

“Can I grab a pillow?” asks Harley pitifully, as Steve and Bucky begin to consolidate serving platters and toss the other things in a trash bag. Peter starts to help and Steve smiles at him.

“Do you think you deserve one?” mocks Tony, standing up and pulling Harley up with him, giving the youth a gigantic, crushing hug. “Because I kind of feel like if you’re not walking funny three days from now, I’ll have this sudden urge to give you a refresher course on basic horsemanship and safety.”

“Saw you on Sabertooth,” says Harley, and even Peter can see that it’s a distraction tactic. “You looked good.”

“Of course _I_ looked good, I always look good,” says Tony, affronted, pushing Harley away from him and walking towards the fire with a quick pace. “You’re the one who was sitting like a sack of potatoes on Tantrum just because you got _caught_ acting like a common idiot. Swear to God, I understand now why my grandpa drank so much. Swear to God.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter hears Harley mumble, as Tony pulls Harley down beside him on the bench beside the fire. Harley yelps, then, and Tony says, “Good. Serves you right.”

“You okay, kiddo?” asks Bucky, lowly. “Been a rough day.”

“I’m- fine,” says Peter hesitantly, picking up a platter still stacked high with brisket.

Bucky hums, his dark eyes taking a long look at Peter. Peter holds still for it and Bucky says, “I don’t like it. I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.”

Peter’s jaw drops a little, so he clenches it. “Well, I can’t help that,” he tells the man, and turns to go back into the house. 

“I got it,” he hears Steve tell Bucky. “You go sit by the fire.”

Yeah. Someone’s always got to pass Peter off to someone else. That’s how it works. In the end, no one can _handle_ him, thinks Peter angrily, as he opens the door to the house and shoulders his way inside.

Peter shoves the brisket in the refrigerator, and then turns, avoiding Steve, to head back outside. Steve lets him go, he suspects, mainly because the picnic table has to get emptied and because it’s easier to have the two of them do it, right then. Steve stacks the empty platters on the counter top, on their last trip inside, and then grabs for Peter’s hand and says, “Okay, time to stop.”

Peter stands there, with his hand in Steve’s, feeling awkward and like his skin is too tight, until finally he spits, “What, stop everything? Stop breathing? What? What do you want me to _stop_ , Steve?”

In his head, Clint’s words echo, _But he pushes and pushes, almost like he wants a sore ass, most weeks. And Bucky don’t mind giving it to him, Peter._

Is that- is that what Peter’s doing, _pushing?_ Being rude, for, for no reason? He shifts, but can’t quite bring himself to pull his hand from Steve’s. He glares at the tile floor, his heart pounding.

“What’s gotten into you?” murmurs Steve.

The hot lick of- of anger- or- he doesn’t _know_ , makes Peter spit, “Why, you gonna fucking spank me for talking back?” And then he stares up at Steve, frozen, shocked. Shit. Shitshit _shit_. What- where- where had that come from?

“Ah,” says Steve, like a lightbulb is going off, and that’s _great_ , for him, but Peter’s isn’t turning on, there’s just this- this- all this _stuff_ inside him, all these _thoughts_. 

“C’mere,” says Steve, and he tugs, and after a second of pulling back, panicking, Peter takes a hesitant step forward. “That’s right,” coaxes Steve. “C’mere.” He tugs again, and Peter shifts a step back, again, before taking a bigger one, so that they’re standing chest to chest, now. Steve brushes the hair out of Peter’s eyes with a careful hand and says, “Bet you don’t even know what you want right now,” softly and slowly.

Peter’s breath hitches. _But he pushes and pushes, almost like he wants a sore ass, most weeks. And Bucky don’t mind giving it to him, Peter._ “I don’t- I have- uh, _ideas_ ,” he says. “I have- I don’t know what I-”

“Yeah, I figure,” says Steve. “C’mere,” he says again, and slides his arms around Peter, giving Peter the same kind of hug Tony had given Harley, tight and hard, and, and- “Shh, s’okay,” says Steve. “We’ll talk in a minute. It’s gonna be okay, Peter. Whatever’s inside you, whirling around, right now, I’m not going to be scared or shocked or- or even disapproving, probably. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Everyone _always says that_ , thinks Peter wildly, rubbing his cheek against Steve’s shoulder. They _have_ to say that, but they don’t _know_ it.

“Shh, sweetheart,” says Steve, his voice deep and soothing, his hand rubbing up and down Peter’s back. “You’re okay. We’ll talk in a minute.”

Steve, um, _holds him_ , like that, for a long moment that seems to stretch out for weeks, and then he says, “There. That’s better. Much calmer. I think you’re ready to talk. But you can have another hug, just like that one, if you need it, okay, Peter? Because I’m guessing this isn’t going to be an easy talk.”

“You okay in here?” asks the gruff voice of Bucky from the door.

“Just fine. Peter just realized some stuff, stuff he might want, like you said,” says Steve. “We were gonna talk about it.”

“Oh. Uh,” says Bucky, his footsteps sounding a little hesitant, like he steps forward and then back again. “You, uh, can I, um.”

“I don’t see how you could help,” laughs Steve. “Go away and let us talk.”

“You got it,” says Bucky, and Peter hears the door open and close. 

“Okay, let’s go sit,” says Steve, comfortably, stepping back, drawing Peter with him, over to the big couch in the sitting area. “So, you’re a lot more like Harley than you thought?”

“What?” asks Peter, completely confused.

“Peter,” says Steve, “look at me, hon.”

Peter looks up into Steve’s face, but it takes real effort.

Steve looks kind, and concerned, and determined. “I’ve been watching you turn everything around and around in your head all night, well, sure, all week, really, and then poking me just now and waiting for my reaction. Harley’s a grown man, isn’t he? And here he is, getting scolded and smacked, called Half-pint and told he’s going to be grounded, and he just _goes along with it_ , doesn’t he, Peter?”

Peter swallows nervously, feeling sweat on his palms. “Y-yeah, Steve,” he croaks.

“What do you think about that?” asks Steve quietly.

“I-” says Peter, and then he can’t- he flushes, and he can’t talk.

“You like it? The idea of it?” asks Steve.

“I d-don’t-” stutters Peter. 

“Peter Parker, if I told you right now to get over my lap for lying to me, what would you do?” asks Steve in a very stern voice, his eyes darkening a little.

Peter shivers. “I’d, uh, I’d _have_ to,” he whispers.

“Have to, or _want_ to?” says Steve, just as sternly.

“W-want to,” confesses Peter, his cheeks hurting, they’re burning so painfully hard. “B-but I d-didn’t lie to you. I d-don’t lie,” he protests.

“No, you don’t,” agrees Steve. He leans forward and taps Peter on the lips. “And you won’t start, will you?”

“N-no,” agrees Peter helplessly.

“So, we’ve established you’re okay with how we treat Harley, you _want_ how we treat Harley, Peter, would you agree?” asks Steve, raising an eyebrow.

“Y-yes?” asks Peter.

“Not good enough,” warns Steve, shaking his head regretfully. “Do you, Peter Parker, want to get spanked when you’re mouthing off or being sassy or making big mistakes and breaking rules, or don’t you?”

“B-by you, or- or Bucky,” breathes Peter.

“By one of us, yes, Peter,” says Steve, a small smile twitching his lips. “Although we’ll have to bring Bucky up to speed and make sure he’s fine with the idea. As a concept, he’s got it down. And I assure you, you’re worth the effort. Do you want that, or don’t you?”

“Yes?” Steve frowns and Peter rushes to add, “I do? Maybe? I don’t- I don’t-”

“Ah, panic, yeah, I know about that one,” says Steve. “This used to be just, I mean, no one thought it was deviant, back home,” he sighs.

“In _Brooklyn_?” asks Peter, a little shocked.

“Well, sort of,” chuckles Steve. “Yeah. Whole story there. Some other time. This is _normal_ , for us, Peter. We just kind of _live_ like this. It feels good, and right, and if it stops feeling good, feeling right, then we’ll adjust and move forward with that new normal. But it’s not something- I mean, either you’re in or you’re not, because you’re not going to want that first spanking, Peter, whenever we need to, and that’s going to be hard enough, as it is, without you saying _stop_ -”

“I want-” breathes Peter, and Steve leans forward, looking up at him seriously, listening. “I want- yes. To try. This summer. With you. Both of, of you.”

Steve sits back and looks at him, the fingers of one hand resting on his mouth. “Okay, then,” he says. “We’ll run it by Tony- he’s your boss, you know, on paper- and let him know you want the same treatment as Harley, and then- we’ll adjust from there.”

Peter can’t breathe, but he gasps, “Uh, okay.”

“I like setting boundaries,” says Steve slowly. “I like having things my way, I like saying _no_ and knowing I can make it stick, with Harley. I like that, and I’ll like it with you, too, Peter. But you don’t have to. If we start this, and it doesn’t feel right, you just come to me, just like this, as brave as you were tonight, and we’ll talk, again, and I won’t get hurt and I won’t get mad, do you hear me?”

“Y-yeah,” says Peter, hearing Steve’s voice ringing in his head, clear a bell. _Brave as you were tonight_ echoes on repeat all the way down to his toes.

The door opens, and Peter jumps.

“What’s up?” asks Steve, reaching for Peter’s hand with his left hand, twining their fingers and giving a little squeeze.

“You got any marshmallows?” asks Tony, heeling out of his boots by the door. “Oh, wait, what’s this?” he asks, detouring to stand by the couch.

“Yeah, so, Peter wants the DD addendum,” says Steve.

“He does?” says Tony, sounding shocked. Peter flushes. He had no idea what addendum Steve is talking about, for all he knows, it’s a codeword between them. God, he’s such an idiot. This is so- this is not a good idea. 

“What a great idea,” says Tony slowly. “Harley could use a good friend who just _gets_ it. Why didn’t I ever think of looking for one and installing one, before?”

“We’re not installing him,” says Steve firmly. “He asked, because he’s interested. On trial.”

“Sure, sure,” says Tony, waving a hand. He rests his hip on the hard wood beside Steve and says, “So, just the DD? Not the SP?”

“Mm,” says Steve. “ _That_ can wait. One thing at a time.”

“Okay, I’m just saying, I’ve seen the look he gave Bucky, it’s gonna get complicated real fast if you don’t just lay it all out,” says Tony. “Jump all the gates in one run, is what I suggest.”

“You’re real bad at strategy though,” Steve teases, like he’s reminding Tony.

“Maybe, maybe not, on this one,” says Tony, shaking this off. “I’m just saying, he’s not some backwater hick who doesn’t know what he wants, who you have to wait for. He’s a big city kid, Steve. Like me. Well, okay, no, not like me, actually. But I think you should-”

“Run my house the way I want to run my house?” asks Steve quietly.

Tony holds up his hands and steps away from the couch, shrugging his shoulders innocently. “Forget I said SP. Where’re you holding the marshmallows hostage?”

“Above the fridge. You know the combo,” says Steve. “Don’t touch one drop or I’ll have Bucky explain what a lock means, and how we respect locks on this land.”

“You got it,” says Tony, wandering towards the kitchen.

Steve looks at Peter and smiles. “There. Hard part’s over. Need another hug?”

“Uh-” stammers Peter, stupidly.

“That’s part of this, too, Peter,” explains Steve patiently. “It’s all about being just, more _hands-on_ in general. All of it. The good stuff and the, well. Harley’s out there being cuddled, isn’t he?”

“Y-yeah,” says Peter, peering through the window at the darkening landscape and the figures around the fire.

“So do you want a hug?” asks Steve patiently.

“Yes,” says Peter firmly. 

Steve actually _lifts_ him up and settles Peter on his lap, and then _nuzzles_ in. “Well, good, I’ve been wanting to do this for days,” he says, and then he wraps his arms around Peter and pulls Peter tight, again.

Peter feels something tight in his chest, and he stammers, “I don’t know why- I don’t- why I want-”

“Maybe you feel a little lost, Peter,” says Steve slowly. “A lot’s changing in your life, right now. Or maybe, maybe you just never thought of it before, never seen it in action, and so now you’re realizing it’s what you want because it’s the first time you’ve ever thought about it being possible. Maybe you _don’t_ actually want it, and that’s okay, too. You don’t have to have those answers tonight, Peter.”

“Hippie babble,” says Tony, walking by. He drops the marshmallows into Peter’s lap and says, pointing a finger at Peter. “You want it because you want it, it’s fine to want things, especially when other people want them, too, so _stop_ worrying about it, and just live your life getting the things you want, kid. Life’s too short, and your butt can take a couple of hits for the team. Now get out there, Harley wants marshmallows and I’m not roasting them for him. That’s on the New Guy chore roster.”

Steve sighs and lifts Peter to stand, following quickly. “Well, let’s get out there and go tell Bucky and Harley so they don’t freak out when Tony rudely and abruptly breaks the news,” he says with a note of long sufferance in his voice.

“Rude and abrupt is my trademark _style_ ,” Tony protests. “I’m _known_ for it. People invite me places to be rude and abrupt!”

Peter snorts, but Steve murmurs, “Truer words.”

~~~

Steve leans down and whispers to Bucky’s ear, when they get close. Bucky immediately scrambles upright and says, “Which, uh, _which_ one?”

“DD,” announces Tony.

“What?” asks Harley, sitting up against Bucky and throwing a resentful look around the other men. 

“Peter wants to, uh, be ours, like _you’re_ ours, Half-pint,” says Steve.

“Wait, what? He’s _staying_?” asks Harley, and Peter’s heart hurts at the hope in his voice.

“I don’t know about that,” says Steve. “But, he said that he’d like some, uh, firmer guidance.”

“Oh, God,” moans Harley. “He doesn’t, though, no one _wants_ this, Bucky. Don’t give him ideas,” he tells Peter. “Don’t- don’t you _dare_ give either one of them ideas.”

“I don’t need any, the ones I got work just fine,” grunts Bucky, dropping a kiss on Harley’s head. 

Harley rolls his eyes and then smirks at Peter. “Hey, are those marshmallows?” he asks eagerly.

“Oh, hell, no,” says Bucky firmly.

“Language,” chides Steve. 

“Losing the battle,” laughs Tony, “You are _so_ losing that battle and it’s only you that can’t see it, Steve-O.”

“Please, Bucky?” pleads Harley. “I ate, I did, I ate everything on my plate, you saw me. _And_ I ate the corn, and it was _off_ the plate.”

“He did eat good,” comments Tony. “Probably the best I’ve ever seen, that close to _after_.”

“Please?” begs Harley. “Just two. No, three. Just three, Bucky, all night, just three, I won’t even-”

“Three,” agrees Bucky, looking down at Harley. “But I hear one word when you’ve had three and-”

“I won’t,” promises Harley. He looks at Peter and says, “Go get a knife, I need to go cut us some sticks.”

Peter is still giggling semi-hysterically about Harley needing Peter to go get a knife to cut sticks, sitting beside Harley on the ground, when Clint and Sam arrive back at the fire, Clint making excited noises about the marshmallows currently browning nicely.

“We’re celebrating,” Tony informs them. “Steve and Bucky are expanding their little arrangement. Peter watched Harley’s performance tonight, and he wants in on the whole ‘cavemen from another era’ routine.” 

Steve and Bucky both glare at him blackly. “Blast it, Tony,” sighs Steve.

“Oh, God,” sighs Sam. “Not another one.”

Clint grins. “Great! I will add him to the yes-tattle-immediately column.”

“Hey! You have another column?” yelps Harley, glaring at Clint. “Who’s on it?”

“Tony,” says Clint firmly. He looks around and says, “Yeah, and Nat. That’s about it.”

Peter’s cheeks are flaming, but Harley elbows him and says, “Okay, new mission. We gotta get on that list somehow.”

“Be good,” grunts Bucky, his stretched out booted foot knocking against Harley’s side. “Won’t have to tattle if you don’t _do_ anything.”

“Correct,” sighs Tony. “Stop giving me heart attacks, you know I got a faulty ticker, Half-pint.”

“You staying with us or heading to the main house, tonight?” Bucky ask Tony.

“God, I should go sleep in my own bed,” laughs Tony, scrubbing at his face.

“Stay. Bucky’ll make cinnamon rolls,” says Steve quietly. Something about his tone of voice makes Peter swallow and sway into Harley’s shoulder.

“Yeah, okay,” sighs Tony, and Harley wiggles happily, saying, “Cinnamon rolls! Really?”

“And if you’re a really good boy, all night, you might even get one,” teases Tony.

Peter’s cheeks flush again, but Harley ignores Tony to chirp, “My marshmallow!” in distress.

Peter pulls his stick out as Harley blows out the flaming blob of burnt sugar at the end of his own stick. “I’ll take it,” he offers. “I like burnt ones.”

“Oh, ew, thanks,” says Harley, offering the burnt one to Peter. Peter takes it carefully, angling his stick so Harley can lift the perfectly browned marshmallow off.

The marshmallow is still too hot to eat safely, but it’s also not structurally sound, melting and oozing between Peter’s fingers. He pops the biggest piece in his mouth, hissing at the momentary burst of burning pain, and then starts the familiar process of licking his fingers clean while Harley babbles about how perfect and gooey Peter’s marshmallow is.

“You sure about that SP?” asks Tony faintly. “Because I can draw it up, and, honest Abe, if you don’t, _I might_.” Peter flashes him a quick look and catches Tony staring at Harley licking his fingers and wiggling happily. Tony looks uncomfortable, like he’s shocked by something, shocked and intrigued and, and- Peter looks away from the intensity of Tony’s gaze. It wasn’t meant for him, and it’s too- too raw. He peeks at Harley and Harley grins back at him, happy and goofy. Peter smiles back at Harley and takes a deep breath before reaching for another marshmallow to roast. He doesn’t look at Tony. He doesn’t look at Tony with all of his strength of will, and he concentrates instead on Harley beside him, goofy and laughing, and the sensation of being young and stupid, high on nothing but sugar.

Steve snorts, behind Peter, and Bucky growls, “Knock it off, Stark. Ain’t the time.”

“Will be, soon enough,” says Sam quietly, and Peter catches _his_ serious look, a clear warning, above Peter and Harley’s heads at Steve and Bucky.

“Cross that creek when we get to it,” grunts Bucky.

Harley laughs at Peter, recapturing Peter’s attention and making him laugh back, distracting him again from all the _weirdness_ with his simple, silly, sugar-high joy. 

“You- you got some-“ and Harley runs a finger across Peter’s cheek, swiping up a warm line of sticky marshmallow. “How’d you even _get_ it-?” he chortles. 

Peter shrugs and licks the marshmallow off Harley’s finger, making him yelp with laughter and shout, “Gross! Now I gotta wash my hands!” He pushes Peter and Peter lets loose the silly giggle that abruptly fills his throat, because there’s something about the taste of burnt marshmallow and the smell of campfire, a buddy beside him and the adults all talking in some kind of code, that makes him feel goofy and good, like a real kid again. Harley shoves him again, harder, his eyes laughing, and Peter lets his body sway wildly with the motion, as if Harley had shoved hard enough to almost knock him over.

“Settle, Harley,” says Steve firmly. “That’s a fire, right there in front of you.”

“Ain’t time yet,” repeats Bucky.

“Soon,” murmurs Sam, cocking a skeptical eyebrow and leaning back in his chair, sharing a look of exasperation with Clint, who shakes his head and grins.

Peter digs in the bag and offers Harley another marshmallow with a grin.

“You make mine,” Harley commands. “That was the best damn- sorry, sorry- the best gosh darn gol-ding-it marshmallow I’ve ever had.” He snickers, and tosses Peter a puppy-dog look that makes Peter smile and hope the fire accounts for the heat on his face.

“Okay. Burn me one?” asks Peter, trying for a nonchalant tone.

“You got it,” laughs Harley.

Peter settles his shoulder against Harley’s and sighs. For a day without Ben, without May or Ned or anyone else, either, for that matter, it’s been _wild_ , but… but this part has been okay.

Yeah. This part’s been pretty good.

He strategizes the best place to make Harley an even better marshmallow, and snorts with Harley when Clint says, “Hey, Harley, make me one of them burnt ones, too.”

Harley rolls his eyes at Peter and says, “Go cut your own stick,” and then they both burst into giggles and snorts, unable to stop snickering until it’s time to eat the next set of marshmallows.

Yeah. This part’s pretty good. 

Maybe Steve was right, and it _is_ going to be okay.

Maybe.

It’s a nice thought, anyway.


	2. PLAYLISTS BY ABIGAIL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abigail threatened me with Stark Ranch playlists and man, they're amazing, so I asked if I could share with y'all.
> 
> And she said YES, so here you go, playlists, by ABIGAIL!

Chapter 1

Boys Will Be Bugs (Cavetown)

No One Knows (Green Day)

Here Comes a Thought (Steven Universe)

One More Time With Feeling (Regina Spektor)

Chapter 2

Mr Loverman (Ricky Montgomery)

Sign of the Times (Harry Styles)

Cherry Wine (Hozier)

I Think We're Alone Now (Tiffany)

Chapter 3

Island Song (Adventure Time)

Backyard Boy (Claire Rosinkranz)

This Side of Paradise (Coyote Theory)

Sweet Creature (Harry Styles)

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE GO GIVE SOME LOVE FOR THAT MOODBOARD: https://starker-rays.tumblr.com/post/626538789328781312/cowboy-tony-and-his-ranch-hand-peter-in-new-mexico OR CLICK ON IT IN THE FIRST STORY
> 
> Anyway, so, we're just gonna have fun with the cowboys. I know people apparently hate WIPs, but we're just here, having fun, with cowboys. Try not to stress any major story arcs which may or may not develop. Cowboys. Smut. Spankings. ENJOY THIS.
> 
> Also, I'm fine but we're back to being swamped with real life. Gimme a few weeks to pound out some more chapters in all of the AUs and I'll do another round of updates, okay?


End file.
